KnS: Sins in the Moonlight
by DezoPenguin
Summary: A school trip to Hawaii is poised to give Chikane and Himeko fun both innocent and not so innocent, but the plans of a group of criminals will highlight a broken soul. A prequel to "Kannazuki no Shimai." Lemon content in chapter one.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Much like the short story "Moving Day" and the omake "Allergic to Love," the "KnS" in the title to this story means that it takes place within the same universe as my manga sequel novel _Kannazuki no Shimai_. Most of it should be self-explanatory, as this is a prequel to that story, taking place while the girls are still high-school third-years (the equivalent of senior year/twelfth grade in the American system). Those of you who have read the _Kannazuki no Miko_ manga will already know that unlike in the anime Chikane and Himeko were reborn as twin sisters, but that they remembered their past lives and their future destiny...which, if that touches on territory you find too squicky, may suggest that you'd want to avoid the lemon scene._

_Wondering why I got exotic with my description of Himeko's hair color? Blame Chikane. In the Drama CD (yeah, okay, the drama CD is in the anime continuity, not the manga, but hey...) she specifically describes Himeko as having "red tea" hair while rhapsodizing over her._

_Incidentally, in accordance with the results of the Ame no Murakumo ga Miteru poll, Japanese character names will be presented in Japanese order, last name first, and when characters are speaking Japanese they will use Japanese titles and honorifics (-san, -chan, etc.) to address one another. Should you find any errors in my usage, please let me know!_

~X X X~

The music that filled the club was hard and frenetic, driving the crowd of twentysomethings to fling their hard, young bodies about with wild, even desperate abandon. Some, of course, were intoxicated with alcohol or drugs, but it seemed to Tamura Hiroshi as if this was irrelevant, a mere gloss on the force that drove them and their sober, chemically speaking, companions. Their dancing did not seem to arise out of joy or passion or even simple lust, but rather a yearning for something just out of their grasp, a _need_ that drove them as cruelly as a whip across their backs. And yet if asked, if one were able to even make them comprehend the question, none of them would have been able to tell what it was they craved with such overwhelming urgency.

Tamura was filled with mingled pity and contempt for the club patrons, just as he was for the native Hawaiian before him. Vincent Pukui neither looked nor acted like the dancers, but just like them he sought something with every fiber of his being that was nonetheless utterly beyond his reach. He would have said it was money and power and the material benefits those things would bring him that he wanted, but it was not so. Tamura knew better; what Pukui craved was respect, a sense of belonging. Like a feral dog in the streets he lived by fighting for every scrap of food, every night's safe rest, believing he wanted a full belly when he really wanted to run with—even lead—a proper pack. And, like the feral dog, he did not, could not, know that his unacknowledged dream was hopeless.

This was why Tamura found him so easy to manipulate.

"Here is everything you need," he said, extending an envelope. "The time the class is arriving, the hotel where they'll be staying, and their schedule for the trip."

Pukui took the envelope. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a powerful physical specimen that even Tamura had to respect on the level of brute force. His dark eyes slid from the yakuza underboss to the third man in the room, a sharp-featured Japanese wearing a dark sharkskin suit. He said nothing, but took out another envelope which he handed to Pukui.

"Your advance payment," Tamura said, "two hundred thousand dollars, to be split among yourself and your associates as you see fit. The other half will be paid upon the job's completion. More than that, you will have proven your worth to the Ayanokouji-_gumi_." This was, of course, a lie. A dog, no matter how well-trained, would never be more than a dog. If, however, it believed itself part of the family, it would be that much faster to defend what it thought was its pack. So too was it with this man.

Pukui's thumb moved towards the flap of the money envelope, as if he was about to take the payment out and count it. He seemed to recognize the offense this would give and at the last moment held back before opening the flap. At least he had _some_ manners.

"Don't worry, Tamura-_san_," the Hawaiian said, mangling the pronunciation of the simple honorific. "One high-school girl? There's no way we'll have any trouble."

~X X X~

The tall, beautiful girl leapt into the air, her body stretched out at full extension. Even on the beach at Waikiki, she stood out, the figure hugged by the turquoise bikini well worth a second look, as were the sleekly toned limbs, lovely face, and long sweep of dark hair. Her arm whipped around, and she let out a sharp cry as she hit the descending volleyball. It shot down across the net, rocketing past the boy who'd jumped to try to block her spike and hit the sand just out of reach of his partner's dive.

"Miya-sama!" cheered the clustered students who were watching their classmates' beach volleyball game. "Incredible, Miya-sama!"

There was one of them who was cheering something different, though. This was a girl with a slender figure, waist-length hair the color of the sun shining through a glass of red tea, and striking violet eyes. She clapped eagerly and cried out, "Way to go, Chikane-chan!"

The girl's name was Asamiya Hikari, but in her previous life she'd been the Solar Priestess of Ame no Murakumo, Kurusugawa Himeko. Since she retained all her memories of that turbulent, traumatic lifetime, she'd always thought of herself as Himeko, just as she thought of Miya-sama, her twin sister Tsukuyo, as the person _she_ had been: Lunar Priestess and Eighth Neck of Orochi, Himemiya Chikane.

There were a number of old Japanese legends about how star-crossed lovers would be reborn as twins so that they'd never have to be parted. Himeko didn't know if that was true in general, but it definitely applied to herself and her twin. Himeko and Chikane had been lovers, and in truth they still _were_ lovers, in every sense of the word. That they retained their past-life memories helped a lot, she thought; she was fairly certain that they'd have ended up that way in any case but without those memories they'd have likely taken a lot longer to realize their feelings and felt considerable angst and guilt over it—particularly Chikane, who tended towards overthinking stuff like that.

"Damn, Hikari, sometimes I think that sister of yours would get me to switch to your side of the fence," remarked her best friend, Ohgami Marika, with a wink. Marika was one of only two people who knew the real relationship between the twins, by virtue of having accidentally walked in on them while they were doing extremely unsisterly things to each other. Surprisingly, not only was she not weirded out by it, she actually supported Himeko in the relationship. She wasn't necessarily sure that she believed in past lives and resurrected priestesses, but she could see that being Chikane's lover made Himeko very happy and that was what counted.

It didn't take much to tell that Marika was an unconventional girl, anyway. Less than five feet tall, she nonetheless stood out in a crowd. Her hair was dyed in alternating red and blue stripes decorated with white stars, to celebrate their school trip to the United States. A swarm of thirty-four eighteen-year-olds descended upon Oahu for a week with bathing suits, cameras, and suntan lotion.

The two opponents in the game, a pair of tanned, blond Americans, walked over to Chikane and her partner, a boy named Uehara. The male half of the losers grinned and stuck out a hand.

"Hey, great game! Thanks a lot for the match."

Chikane returned the handshake without hesitation.

"Not at all; we had a lot of fun," she replied with only the barest trace of an accent. One of the advantages of past-life memories was retaining past-life education, such as the training the heiress of the Himemiya family had received in foreign languages. She spoke flawless English and French, and was adequately fluent in Cantonese and Russian besides.

There was a bit more chatter that Himeko didn't catch (her own language skills were extremely iffy), and then the four players left the court to the next pair of teams. Chikane and Uehara split up, Chikane walking over towards Himeko and Marika.

"Miya-sama, that was so awesome!" caroled a third girl who'd been standing off to Himeko's left. She rushed forward, handing Chikane a towel to wipe sand and sweat off with.

"Thank you, Himemiya-san," Chikane responded politely, accepting the towel. The irony did not escape either sister; the girl was _this_ lifetime's Himemiya family heiress, Reiko, who filled the role none too well. It wasn't that she was short, slightly overweight, with blotchy skin and glasses. Her personality tended to be all but completely self-effacing; rather than being one of the class leaders, she was instead one of Chikane's most enthusiastic admirers. Himeko always thought it was a little sad, the way Reiko trailed after Chikane like a puppy, despite never breaking through the elder twin's princess-like mask.

Chikane mopped the sweat from her face and chest, then handed the towel back to Reiko; the other girl clutched it to herself like it was some kind of treasure.

"What was that about a party, Tsukuyo-san?" Marika asked.

"A party?" Himeko piped up. _Oh, that must have been in the English that I didn't catch._

"Mm-hm. Their class is having one tonight and wanted to know if we wanted to join them; I said that it sounded like fun but that we were on a plan of activities under our teachers' supervision."

Marika sighed.

"Yeah, probably right. Getting the whole class to sneak out of the hotel and back in again would have been a lot of work. And you know somebody would have messed it up and we'd probably get packed back to Japan or something. Guess we'll have to stay home and do our own partying." She nudged Himeko and winked at Chikane, hinting that she assumed there was another reason why the twins wouldn't be sneaking out to a beach party. Himeko blushed faintly but did not, in fact, argue the point.

"I'm a bit thirsty after all that," Chikane changed the subject. "Would anyone else like something to drink?"

"I would," Himeko said, and that was that. The four of them strolled over towards a nearby concession stand. As they did, a tall Japanese man wearing a white suit and sunglasses slipped from the crowd and began following them. This was not surprising; the man was Gin, Reiko's day-shift bodyguard. The heiress was, after all, a tempting target for criminals, and while her father had acceded to her request not to hedge her around with security he had insisted on having at least one man on guard while Reiko was in a foreign country. Himeko couldn't help but think that the suit must be hot even given its weight and color, but it was necessary under the circumstances since he was carrying a gun.

At the concession stand, the girls let Chikane handle the orders, then started digging for money in their various purses and carryalls. They walked away with two lemonades, a Coke, an iced tea, and a Blue Hawaii-flavored shaved ice for Marika, then strolled back towards the beach.

"It's so beautiful here," Himeko gushed as she looked out at the gleaming sands filled with eager sun-worshippers and the aquamarine waters sparkling in the light. "I'm glad I brought extra memory sticks for my camera; I'm going to need them."

Chikane nodded.

"Let's see, tomorrow is our shopping day, Wednesday is for museums and cultural attractions, on Thursday we go over to Maui, and Friday it's the beach again, on the North Shore. Saturday's our free day."

"My life will not be complete," Marika declared, "if I don't try surfing at least once."

"I'd be afraid of wiping out," Himeko said.

"Well, since I've known you to trip and fall while standing still, that is not an unnatural fear," Marika observed, then ate a spoonful of her shaved ice.

"Geez!"

"Don't worry, Himeko; I'd dive in to save you," Chikane said wryly.

"Aw, not you, too."

"I think our lot is to watch and cheer, Miya-chan," Reiko observed wisely.

"I guess so," Himeko sighed. "Darn it." She brightened, then, as she realized, "But I'm going to be there with my camera when you fall in, Marika-chan!"

"Hah! You think you can get one up on me by making me look ridiculous in public? I do sillier things than fall off a surfboard every day!"

"Well," Himeko said, grinning, "I guess you get the last word, since I can't argue with the truth."

"Oooh, she shoots—she scores!"

Chikane patted her on the head.

"Himeko brought her game today," she deadpanned.

"Aw, you guys!"

~X X X~

"So, we all know what we're doing, right?"

Vincent Pukui's dark eyes swept across the faces of his hand-picked crew, three men plus himself for a total of four to carry out this job. He'd worked with them all before, knew he could rely on them for this commission that could be their stepping stone into the big time. Which wasn't to say that they weren't already experienced in violence, even wet work, but there was a difference between muscle jobs and being a serious contractor, particularly for a group with the power of the Ayanokouji-_gumi_.

"Yeah, Vince, we've only been over it a half-dozen times," drawled Cedric Carmichael. Cedric was a tanned, blond surfer boy from California who'd followed the waves out to Hawaii but soon found that his true talents lay in the areas of theft and intimidation, through which he funded his lifestyle.

"Pipe down, Keanu," said another of the men. "I don't want to blow my chance at a hundred grand because you bore easily." Rex Taggert, despite a name suited for a cowboy, was a dark-haired, dark-skinned man whose background was an ethnic stew of various nationalities from nearly every Pacific island group _except_ Hawaii.

The fourth man, John Joseph—"Jojo"—Sakata, didn't say anything. The whiplike Japanese-American wasn't much of a talker. Pukui appreciated that, but his listening was going to be more valuable than his silence. More than likely the heiress of an international family-run conglomerate, a _zaibatsu_, would know English, but he doubted she'd be so obliging as to talk it with her school friends just because it would suit the plans of a group of criminals. Jojo was bilingual, having grown up in Yokohama until the age of ten.

"Right. Let's go over it again. Tamura's given us a three-day window, but tomorrow is our best chance. No screw-ups, you get me?"

~X X X~

The hotel room was clean and comfortable, but nothing fancy. Chikane nevertheless loved every bit of it, from the prints of seascapes and hibiscus blossoms on the walls to the carpets and bedding in various shades of cream and beige. The décor had nothing to do with it; the only furnishings that mattered were that she and Himeko were on one side of a locked door and the rest of the world was on the other.

Being Himeko's twin sister in this life had been wonderful in a lot of ways. They'd been together from the very start, even before birth, scarcely more than a hand's reach away. There was none of the waiting, none of that yearning to fill the hollow place within her soul that only Himeko's presence could occupy. It was not, however, a one-sided blessing, particularly as their bodies had matured out of childhood into an age where sexuality started to be a concern. It was annoying enough to be unable to claim Himeko publicly as her own in the romantic sense, but the sexual logistics were appallingly restrictive. One could hardly, for example, take one's sister to a love hotel—not in a town the size of Mahoroba where there was no such thing as anonymity.

The consequences of being caught out, too, could be utterly ruinous. It almost seemed like some kind of miracle that Marika was such a good friend that she shrugged off an incestuous romance as just one more thing to tease Himeko about, and that her aunt had dismissed it all as being none of her business. Opportunities to be alone and private together were not anywhere near as common as they'd like them to be.

Chikane had a hotel room with Himeko for an entire week. As Himeko had said when they'd checked in, _I feel like a bride on her honeymoon!_ The description was apt, and Chikane intended to enjoy herself to the fullest on this trip.

Thinking about that was far too distracting, Chikane thought ruefully. The sight of Himeko in her swimsuit on the beach had been bad enough; relatively modest as her lover's bikini had been, it still clung to her like a second skin, teasing Chikane and making her ache to embrace the other girl. Now that they were back in the hotel, that ache was getting worse, the unique opportunity for privacy their room afforded them seemed to make it impossible for her to turn her mind in other directions.

Himeko was in the shower now, washing off the sweat, salt, and sand from their beach trip. Chikane had reflexively let her go first out of kindness, but she found herself wishing that she hadn't. She could use a shower right about then. Preferably an ice-cold shower, like a plunge in purifying spring water, to force these feelings back to sleep. She did _not_ need to be standing in the middle of a hotel room while less than ten feet away Himeko was under the shower nozzle, clouds of steam rising around her, droplets of water streaming down her roses-and-cream flesh while she worked a washcloth over herself, stroking her limbs and flanks with the soft cloth, rubbing in tight circles across her belly and breasts...

_Damn it._

She felt the sudden, sharp clench between her thighs, the fever of arousal gone past the point where simple relaxation or distraction would quench it. There was only one thing that could put this fire out properly.

Himeko.

Chikane turned towards the bathroom door, started to move, then stopped before she took a single step, hesitating.

Should she?

The truth was, Chikane very rarely initiated their lovemaking. Her desire for her twin was so strong that it often threatened to overwhelm her, but she tended to shy away from acting on it without Himeko's invitation. Her past life had brought her too much fear, too much guilt to be easily washed away, and the twinge of worry that she was forcing her desires on Himeko woke, however fleetingly, the ghosts of when she literally had forced herself on her in a wild attempt to make Himeko despise her.

Himeko's unflinching, unshakable love for her had been Chikane's salvation, an utterly priceless gift, and she would never betray that again. So she often hesitated, waiting for Himeko's welcome to unfetter her desires. Yet, the thought of touching her sent a long, delicious shudder through Chikane.

It was too much to resist, too much to hold herself back. She reached behind herself and undid the clasp of her bikini top and let it drop to the floor, then pushed the bottom half of the swimsuit down over her thighs and calves, stepping out of it. Naked, she crossed the carpet to the bathroom door and opened it, a rush of steam from the hot shower washing over her.

Himeko didn't notice the momentary change in atmosphere the way Chikane would have; she didn't call out from behind the shower curtain. Chikane shut the door again so no heat was lost into the air-conditioned hotel room, then crossed the tile and the plain though fuzzy bath mat. She reached out, paused for just a moment, then pushed aside the shower curtain. Himeko was there, just as she'd fantasized, head tipped back as the hot water sprayed across her. A white mesh bath puff was in her hand, and she spread lather smelling of lilies and gardenia over herself. Chikane's legs trembled at the sight; she felt the muscles within her sex twitch again.

_I want her so much._

She stepped over the rim of the tub. Himeko's eyes opened and she turned her head to look back towards her twin.

"Chikane-chan?"

Her tongue seemed swollen to twice its size; she felt breathless and clumsy. She, who as Chikane or Tsukuyo excelled at academics, athletics, and social interactions of all kinds, found herself nervous and stumbling. But then, the princess, "Miya-sama," was just a role that she played, a social space that she occupied, an act she put on to make her life comfortable (and, just a bit, to show off for Himeko, as an animal tried to make itself as attractive as possible for its chosen mate). Being Miya-sama didn't _matter_.

This did.

_I love her so much._

She stretched out her hand, reaching for Himeko's and closing over the bath puff. She managed to smile—seductively, she thought.

"I...thought your back might need washing."

Himeko turned to face her.

"No, that's all right."

The rejection stung; Chikane almost flinched, but in the next instant Himeko stepped closer, slipping her arms around Chikane. She smiled, and a faint blush came into her cheeks.

"I'd rather you help me get dirty," she said softly.

_How like Himeko_, Chikane thought even as relief swept through her. _No hesitation at all in acting, but embarrassed at saying so._ But there was no more time for thinking as she dipped her head so her mouth captured the shorter girl's. Himeko's lips were soft and sweet and she tasted them deeply in a long, loving kiss. Their mouths flowered open against one another and their tongues touched, darting, probing each other's mouths.

Chikane shivered slightly at her lover's kiss. Their bodies were slick and wet from the hot water cascading over them, but Himeko's fingers seemed to leave even hotter trails as they traced across Chikane's back, down to just above the curves of her bottom, then farther down to give a playful squeeze before gliding up over Chikane's thighs and flanks, then between their bodies, ticking her belly with delicate caresses that made Chikane shudder. All the while Himeko kept kissing her hotly, eagerly, making Chikane realize that her twin must have been as ravenous for her as she was for Himeko. What had the blonde been imagining while her beneath the water alone? Had she been hoping Chikane would come join her? Planning to seduce the dark-haired girl as soon as she emerged?

She wanted—needed—more of Himeko, and she pulled her mouth from her lover's. As Himeko whimpered in surprise, Chikane kissed across her jawline, then down her neck, swirling her tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat. The whimper became a moan as Himeko trembled against her, savoring her twin's kisses. Chikane's mouth moved to the right, out along the blonde's collarbone, tasting the honeyed flesh, lightly teasing it with her teeth. She loved to use her mouth on Himeko, to feel her lover's skin beneath her lips, to test the muscles beneath with her teeth and to suckle on it, branding the other girl's flesh with scarlet marks that visibly proclaimed, _she is mine_. Only at the last moment did she hold herself back from leaving any such marks, realizing that swimsuits and sundresses would reveal them to onlookers and raise questions neither girl was prepared to answer.

Himeko's hands slid up Chikane's torso, over the flat plane of her stomach to cup her breasts. She weighed them in her palms, feeling their fullness, lightly stroking, then sliding her thumbs across so that they brushed over nipples already drawn up, hard and swollen with need. She plucked at them, tugging between thumb and forefinger hard enough to be just shy of causing pain, and Chikane felt the sharp clench between her thighs as pleasure rushed through her. A guttural moan welled up from deep in her throat, making Himeko smile sensually as she recognized Chikane's response and savored it.

The blonde dipped her head and captured one stiff nipple between her lips. Chikane moaned again as her lover swirled her tongue around the areola, teasing the nipple to swell even further and harder.

"Ah! Himeko—" Chikane gasped even as her hand cupped the back of Himeko's head, urging her on. The blonde turned her by leaning up into her, pressing Chikane's back into the wall opposite the shower curtain. Her mouth continued to nuzzle and suck at Chikane's breast, while her left hand caressed the other one, using her fingers to duplicate what her mouth was doing, stroking, tugging, even lightly scraping with her nails as Himeko teased the other nipple with her teeth. Chikane's moans grew louder and more frequent; her breasts were extremely sensitive, but more than that her twin just knew how to pleasure them, what built the heat within her to a blaze.

With her free hand Himeko traced patterns on Chikane's body, lightly gliding fingernails over her love's skin, knowing the combination of the gently teasing strokes with the more direct attention being paid to her breasts would drive her lover wild. Her nails grazed Chikane's stomach, making her shiver, then past her waist and along her thighs, circling her core without ever touching it. The ache within her grew stronger and stronger; she could barely feel the water sluicing over them, her senses were so consumed with what Himeko was doing with her.

"Himeko, I...I need..." she whimpered, and her twin lifted her gaze to meet Chikane's, a devilish glint in her violet eyes.

Her hand moved between Chikane's legs, palm cupping her mound. Her fingers deftly spread Chikane's outer lips, but instead of entering her, Himeko lightly caressed along her inner lips, drawing the moment out.

"Himeko..."

Himeko ran her tongue slowly over Chikane's nipple with the same tantalizing delicacy as her fingers teased at the entrance to her lover, then drew her mouth back.

"Yes, Chikane-chan?"

"Himeko, I..."

"What is it, Chikane-chan?" she asked, somehow managing to put most of her usual sweet innocence into her voice, as if her fingertips weren't, even then, brushing in small, circular motions at the top of her slit, indirectly teasing the bud veiled beneath her lips but maddeningly denying what she needed so much. The smile gave her away, though, her too-honest face telling anyone who could see her that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Not that anyone ever would see, Chikane knew. Himeko saved this face for her alone.

"Touch me," she pleaded.

"Like this?"

A fingertip, just one, parted her lips and ran slowly, deliciously up the length of her.

"More..."

Again the slow caress, teasing a little more deeply, while the pad of her thumb continued to press just above her clit.

"Inside me, Himeko," she whispered. "I need you inside me."

Himeko gave her what she begged for, pushing a finger up inside her, sliding it into her wetness. Chikane shuddered as she felt herself open for her lover, felt a small cry escape her throat. Then Himeko's thumb parted her lips, touched the aching, taut nub there directly and she cried out again.

The blonde didn't tease her any longer but delivered what her touches had been promising, stroking into and out of her while her thumb firmly caressed Chikane's clit, working it. Chikane pushed her hips up against Himeko's hand, needing more, needing _her_. Her hand, she found, was still on the back of Himeko's head, and she gathered her lover's mouth to her own, spilling the mewling, gasping cries of pleasure her beloved drew from her into Himeko's lips. Her other hand clutched at Himeko's hip for support; the slick wetness of their bodies slid against one another.

Pressed against the wall of the bath stall as she was, Chikane felt like she was surrounded by, drowning in Himeko. The hunger of her mouth, the softness of her body as breasts, thighs, and calves rubbed together, and the insistent urging between her legs as Himeko built her higher and higher, drove her passion towards completion, more than passion, love. Priestesses, sisters, past lives, all of it was gone when they were like this together, just Chikane and Himeko and emotions that couldn't be put into words, only expressed on each other's bodies.

Chikane's vision swam; she stared blankly, seeing nothing.

Himeko broke the kiss long enough to whisper against Chikane's lips.

"_I love you._"

A second finger joined the first, stabbing deeply into her core. Himeko's thumb pressed down, hard.

She was lost.

Heat exploded through her, filling her body, waves of pleasure surging out from her center that clenched down on Himeko's fingers, every muscle in her body drawing up taut as ecstasy sang along every nerve. Chikane screamed, singing out her joy directly into Himeko's mouth as if it was something the other girl could taste, swallow. Himeko's touch, so knowing, kept her there for a moment that seemed to stretch into forever, until at last she let her down off the peak and the last wave drifted away. She felt limp, exhausted, her entire body trembling uncontrollably as she sagged down, sliding against Himeko until she was resting on her knees, almost as if she was sitting _seiza_ but only able to remain upright by clinging to Himeko's thighs with shaking hands.

Lost? No, she was found.

"Himeko," she murmured lovingly against the other's leg, then raised her eyes to meet her beloved's. Water crashed down around them, streaming across heated flesh as Himeko brushed her hand against Chikane's cheek; her smile was caring and tender, with just a trace of self-satisfaction.

_How I love this girl._ Loved her for her childlike innocence, for her purity that shone as brightly as the sun she represented, how she, only she could pierce all the masks and illusions that made up Chikane's existence. She loved her, too, for the sides of herself that she'd only belatedly come to know, for her resolute spirit, a will that showed that goodness did not have to mean weakness, and for a love that answered her own in all ways. Feelings Chikane had believed were dark and ugly, a forbidden dream, Himeko had accepted, welcomed—and as she'd just shown yet again, returned.

"My turn," Chikane said, smiling. She meant it, too; she loved when Himeko pleasured her, loved the feelings and loved more the proof of Himeko's passion for her, left on her own body as if engraved in stone. Best of all, though, she loved to service her princess in turn, to make her thrill with desire, to make Himeko feel how much Chikane craved her, needed her.

Himeko reached down, stroking Chikane's hair.

"My love, my Chikane-chan."

Chikane slid her hands up Himeko's thighs, stroking the baby-soft skin, then urged them apart, wordlessly making her lover widen her stance, offering access. She raised herself slightly, so that she was eye-level with Himeko's sanctuary, the nest of blonde curls a shade darker, a trace more red than in the hair on her head. The lips of her sex were a pale pink, glistening with beads of water from the shower as well as another, subtler moisture, evidence that Himeko was as eager as she was. She bent forward and nuzzled her nose against the tangle of hair, inhaling Himeko's scent. Himeko giggled and leaned forward.

"Chikane-chan, that tickles! It—oh!"

Chikane had cut her off by sliding her tongue up the length of Himeko's slit, tasting her and drawing the first soft cry. She then brushed her mouth against Himeko's inner thighs, kissing and lightly biting, holding back so that, again, she wouldn't leave a mark. A shudder ran through Himeko, a trembling shiver of anticipation.

Now Chikane returned to Himeko's core, brushing kisses over her, nibbling softly at the outer lips, gently pinching them with her mouth. Himeko shuddered again, thighs trembling under Chikane's hands. She dipped the tip of her tongue inside, gently opening her lover, probing, then left off the teasing at last and took a long, deep taste of Himeko's sex.

"Ah! Chi-Chikane!"

_Do you like that, Himeko? Do you like it when I taste you?_ she thought, but couldn't pause to say as she wielded her tongue as deftly as she would a weapon, stroking, probing, thrusting within Himeko's channel, exploring her innermost secrets. Soft, mewling cries rewarded her efforts, as if Himeko was answering her unspoken, teasing questions. She tasted her lover's musky wetness, the silent evidence of the desire that she'd awakened in Himeko and savored it.

For long minutes Chikane continued her assault on Himeko's depths, working her tongue as deeply as she could, fluttering it within her, clenching at Himeko's bottom to help penetrate her all the better. Himeko's legs were shaking; she sagged forward, having to brace her hands on the shower wall to support herself. Chikane responded, sliding her mouth up to enclose Himeko's clit, licking it first lightly, finding it achingly hard with need, then more firmly, working her tongue against it while she lightly sucked. Himeko's breath came faster and faster, whimpering and sobbing. Her hips rocked against Chikane almost of their own volition, matching the pace of her lover's attentions.

Until at last the dam broke, and she gave a high, soaring cry that was cut off, muffled as she jammed a forearm against her mouth to keep from singing her ecstasy through the hotel walls. Chikane felt the uncontrollable tremors flow through her lover's lower belly, hips, and thighs, felt the fluttering of her inner walls as if shaken by the raw force of her emotions. She kept on flicking her tongue against Himeko's clitoris, drawing out one aftershock after another, until at last Himeko sagged limply to her knees and Chikane cradled her close, murmuring "I love you" again and again into the pink shell of her ear while the water stroked across their satiated embrace.

~X X X~

"Tomorrow, the brats go on their shopping trip. You know what that means, a lot of moving around as they look for souvenirs and other stuff. Everybody'll have different things they want, so they'll be splitting up into groups."

"So we don't have to go after a whole pack of kids and teachers," Cedric caught on at once.

Pukui nodded.

"Right—and they'll be in the outdoors for a good chunk of it, so we can make our move cleanly. Smash and grab instead of having to come up with some disguise or trick."

"Yeah, but how do we zero in on which one of them has the girl? I don't want to end up tailing the wrong kid all around Honolulu with nothing to show for it."

Pukui grinned broadly at Rex.

"Eight groups of four students each...but only one group that'll have a bodyguard trailing in their wake. The guy's meant to protect the kid from people like us, and instead he'll take us right to her."

~X X X~

The sights and sounds of the International Market swirled around Chikane, engulfing her in its world of brilliant color and exotic scents. She recognized that it was an artificial creation, designed to sell goods like any ordinary shopping mall, but in its way it was almost like a museum all of its own, a gallery of the various cultures that made Hawaii into the crossroads of the Pacific. She recognized _tapa_ cloth from Tonga, worked gold from Australia, Maori carving from New Zealand, more from Indonesia, Malaysia, Vietnam, Singapore, China, Japan, and of course local craftspeople from the Hawaiian Islands themselves. Only one nationality that customarily flowed through the islands was missing, that of the mainland United States.

_Which probably isn't a big surprise, since Hawaii is the fiftieth state...despite its geographical and cultural differences._ Chikane remembered at the airport where a couple whose English had a broad midwestern twang had had patiently explained to them that no, they didn't need to change their dollars to "Hawaiian money" because they were still in the United States.

As expected, Himeko ooohed and ahhed over everything, while Marika tried to pick up the wildest and most outrageous things she could to bring back to her family and friends, and Reiko showed a surprisingly attentive eye, assessing the items for sale to separate the quality from the kitsch. That caught Chikane off-guard, as it sadly did every time Reiko displayed signs of being educated as suited the Himemiya heiress.

The bitter truth was that Chikane usually viewed Himemiya Reiko with a faint contempt on those rare occasions when she thought of her at all. It wasn't so much that Reiko didn't match up with the standards Chikane had set in her past life, but the way in which Reiko seemed to have no sense of whom she herself was. Her puppylike adoration for "Miya-sama" and the occasional traces of disappointment she showed at not herself _being_ Miya-sama expressed that plainly. One only had to look at Marika to see the difference; Himeko's friend might have been the heiress of a wealthy, respected shrine family with a thousand-year history, but she was emphatically her own self rather than an imitation of a role model invented by someone else and it gave her an energy and satisfaction that Reiko utterly lacked.

Chikane found herself acting as a kind of interpreter for the other girls; she even got to try out her admittedly rusty Cantonese when Marika wanted to get a scroll painting of the Four Gods from a Hong Kong merchant ("Aunt Minako will love it; the pictures of the gods are so ridiculously over the top it'll remind her why she's an atheist."). She even got into a brisk haggling match over a bracelet Himeko liked and managed to beat down the seller two-thirds on the price, which wasn't bad for someone negotiating in a foreign language.

~X X X~

"I don't know," Cedric said. "Yeah, she looks the part all right, but the clothes are off."

"The clothes?" Jojo asked.

"Yeah, they're pretty ordinary. A billionaire's daughter, you figure she'd be wearing designer labels. Her stuff's all knockoffs. She wears them well and they're good quality, so she's got the eye, but the one with glasses and the one with the weird hair are wearing the real stuff."

"You know entirely too much about women's clothing," Jojo said.

"Long experience of picking it off the floor the morning after," the surfer shot back. "You ought to try bringing a chick home once in a while."

The Japanese man snorted.

"And you should try learning a second language. If you knew any Japanese, you would know that the two you mentioned both call the tall one 'Miya-sama.' 'Sama' is an honorific indicating deep respect or subservience, and Miya is obviously a shortened version of Himemiya, her last name. Her appearance, her manner, her poise, her facility with languages, they all point to what she is."

"All right, all right. Though if we just had a picture we wouldn't even be having this argument."

"She is, apparently, a very reclusive heiress, not given to publicity."

"Yeah, that's what Vince said the moneyman told him," Cedric sighed heavily. "Giving what they'll be asking in ransom, they ought to try harder. Not to mention pay _us_ more."

Jojo exhaled deeply.

"It is easy to ask for a pie-in-the-sky ransom figure. Your fifty thousand of the advance money is hard currency."

"Yeah, I know—and if we don't get a move on, the big boys won't get their pie and we won't get our crumbs."

~X X X~

Like any professional bodyguard or client of one, Gin knew that security and freedom were fundamental opposites, like good and evil, order and chaos, yin and yang. To gain one, the other inevitably had to be reduced. For Himemiya Reiko to enjoy her school trip to the fullest extent possible, her protection had to be sacrificed. Gin didn't like it. He was only one man, and he was forbidden to be close enough to her to put himself between her and an immediate threat. He had to stand by in a semi-overwatch position, _hoping_ to spot any threats in time to act.

What was called for, even if a close guard was forbidden, was a team, a group better able to keep both Reiko and multiple areas of the environment under constant surveillance. Too, someone like Gin, whose loyalty to the Himemiya Financial Group had been tested again and again, should have been paired with someone like the night man, Haseo, who was a local with knowledge of the environment. _Learn by doing_ was no way for a bodyguard to function.

Another aspect of security he'd lost via the arrangement was his own personal safety. His attention was on Reiko and Reiko's immediate environment, with his own surroundings a distant third. Thus when a Japanese man he'd have otherwise recognized from when he'd been within earshot of his charge a couple of times—often enough to be flagged "suspicious" in Gin's mind—approached not Reiko but Gin himself, he took the bodyguard completely by surprise. And because Gin was watching from the fringes of the shopping area rather than out in the open, no one noticed when a precisely-aimed strike to the base of the skull with the hilt of a sheathed Japanese dagger stole Gin's consciousness and stripped Himemiya Reiko of even his limited protection.

~X X X~

"Well," Marika said as they exited the International Market Place out onto Kalakaua Avenue, "even if we're in a foreign country and an outdoor bazaar instead of a three-story megaplex, one thing remains true: turn Hikari and me loose in a mall and look out."

"Be fair!" Himeko laughed. "Half of these are Chikane-chan's."

"You didn't have to carry all those, Himeko—" Chikane began, but Marika cut her off.

"No way; Hikari's right: we can't have you be responsible for talking with everyone while juggling all those bags. Don't worry; Himemiya-san and I won't let her trip."

The exchange made a tide of feelings surge up within Chikane like a whirlpool. The way she felt about Marika was so complex, a twisted mixture of jealousy that she was a fixture in Himeko's life, a child's petulant whine—_I don't need any other friends, so why does she?—_and a deep sense of gratitude that Marika _was_ that best friend that Himeko needed.

"Hey, if we want to give our arms a break, then why don't we have Himemiya-san's guard do us some good? Put that strong back to work instead of us straining our maidenly arms?" Marika was already rushing on to the next idea.

"Ohgami-san, we can't do that. Gin-san has to do his job," Reiko said apologetically, "or his bosses will get really mad."

Chikane blinked. Something seemed wrong with that statement...

Then she noticed.

_Where was Gin?_

The bodyguard had tailed the girls throughout the day, keeping them under observation from a discreet distance, but he wasn't there now. So where had he gotten to?

In the next instant, a burly, dark man with tattooed arms burst out of the Market. He crashed into Himeko, shouldering her aside so that she sprawled to the sidewalk, and in the next instant made a grab for Chikane's purse, nearly wrenching it off her shoulder.

Chikane reacted reflexively, pivoting so that her shoulder and hip made contact with the purse-snatcher's body. His outstretched arm made for a fine level, the reach for her purse already putting him off-balance, so she used it, ushering the man through a hip throw that drove him hard onto his back onto the concrete. The purse's shoulder strap broke under the pressure, but when the thief hit the ground it was jarred out of his grasp and went sliding away.

The tattooed man grunted with pain as he was slammed down, but Chikane wasn't done with him. Intending to make sure he didn't run off before the police got there, she kept hold of the purse-snatcher's arm but shifted into an immobilization, a painful lock that would allow her to counter and control any attempt he made to get up.

~X X X~

_Damn it to hell!_ Cedric thought. The point was for Rex to grab the girl's purse and make her chase him up the street to where she could be bundled into the van in one quick action. But no, the girl had pulled a stunt out of a Hong Kong kung-fu flick and was, to put it bluntly, kicking Rex's ass.

_Time_, he thought, _for Plan B._

~X X X~

Himeko pushed herself to her hands and knees. Marika was by her side in an instant, helping her up while Chikane was, well, being Chikane. It was hard, Himeko admitted, to keep from giving a fangirlish squee over her lover when she was doing things like taking down a thug twice her size without apparent trouble.

Then, suddenly, things changed. A lanky man with long, blond hair and wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt pointed a boxy black device at Chikane.

"Chikane-chan, look out!"

Her scream came too late as the man fired, not a gun, but a Taser. Two metal hooks, each trailing a thin wire, launched at Chikane, hitting her in the back and carrying their stunning voltage. She gasped as her muscular control was disrupted, back arching, falling onto the ground where she writhed like a landed fish.

In the next instant, a black van with its side door open swept up alongside the scene. Himeko could only stare in horror as the tattooed purse snatcher and the man with the Taser grabbed her twin, thrust her into the vehicle, and hopped in after her. Within less than ten seconds the van was pulling away from the curb, tearing Chikane away from her once again.

~X X X~

_A/N: A _gumi_ is a yakuza clan or family. And yes, "Ayanokouji" is in fact a _Kyoshiro to Towa no Sora _in-joke for those who noticed! There's also a very small _Amnesian_ in-joke in the lemon scene for those who caught it._


	2. Chapter 2

The tall, well-dressed Japanese man put away the phone and permitted himself a fleeting smile of self-satisfaction.

It was done. They had her.

Now the waiting game began. The Himemiya family would need to step forward, offering money. They would do it, sooner or later. There would be hesitation, pride, unwillingness to show weakness in the face of criminals, but this was their sole child. They would pay.

The money would disappear.

The kidnappers would disappear as well. Tamura and his yakuza friends would see to that. The man in the sharkskin suit had a close working relationship with the Ayanokouji-_gumi_ in the Islands, a relationship made all the more valuable because the Himemiya Financial Group's contacts in Japan were largely with the Takamura-_gumi_, a rival clan. There was, therefore, considerably less chance of loose lips somewhere down the line, simply because there were fewer people in a position to listen.

Tamura and his _oyabun_ would get their sizable cut.

And the man in the sharkskin suit would be set for life. One billion yen was, he thought, a nice round number for his share.

All he had to do was wait.

~X X X~

"It doesn't m-make any sense!" Himeko stammered. "What would anyone want with Chikane-chan?" She clutched at her twin's dropped purse like it was some kind of talisman, while she fought to get her reeling emotions under control.

"Yeah, it's not like your family has any money," Marika said. "I mean, if it were Himemiya-san, it would..."

Her voice trailed off.

"Marika-chan?"

Himeko turned to see what had caused her friend to fall silent. Marika was looking off to her left, back into the International Market. Himeko followed her gaze and saw the fallen Gin getting woozily back to his feet.

"They knocked out Gin-san before kidnapping Miya-sama," Reiko put it into words. "They t-thought that Miya-sama was me. I...I mean, why shouldn't they? She's beautiful and stylish and confident, poised and talented...anyone would think she was the heiress, not me."

Himeko could hear the bitterness in her voice, and the guilt that underlay it. _If only I was more like her. If only I was worthy of the Himemiya name, they'd never have taken Miya-sama._ She recognized it in Reiko because that guilt was an old friend of hers, the gnawing fear that she wasn't good enough for Chikane or to be the Solar Priestess. She'd all but been crippled by the fear in her past life, until the depth of her love for Chikane had led her to find the inner core of strength she hadn't realized she possessed.

Now Chikane was in danger. She needed to find that strength again. Scared as she was, helpless as she felt in the face of the sudden violence, Himeko knew she had to get control of herself. She didn't know what she _could_ do, she felt so powerless, but she had to be ready for something, for any opportunity. She wasn't any good to Chikane if she stood around crying, making people waste time on her.

"Please, get a hold of yourself, Himemiya-san," Himeko said, lightly touching the girl on the shoulder. "We should see if Gin-san is all right."

"O-okay." She looked grateful just to have some kind of direction.

"We should call the police," Marika suggested.

"Yeah, but...my English is really bad," Himeko said. "I don't think they could understand me."

"Me, either. Himemiya-san?"

Reiko shook her head.

"Not very well. My family's tutors taught me German, and a smattering of Mandarin Chinese, but I don't know much English." She sighed. "Oh, but Gin-san knows. That's why Otousama picked him for this trip. So does Haseo-san, the other bodyguard; he's from the branch here in Honolulu."

"Okay," Himeko decided. "If Gin-san is able, he can call the police; if not, then you can call the hotel and get Haseo-san to do it." She started walking toward the fallen bodyguard.

"Miya-chan, I'm so sorry; if I hadn't been here...this is all my fault!"

Himeko shook her head.

"There's no time to feel bad for ourselves," she said resolutely. "We have to do whatever we can to help Chikane-chan."

Despite her brave words, though, she could not suppress a shiver of fear at the thought of what Chikane was going through.

~X X X~

"Come on, come on, rise and shine, Miss Himemiya."

Consciousness returned dully to Chikane, like she was waking out of a deep sleep. Her head pounded like a triphammer, clouding her thoughts even more. Something seemed wrong, out of place. _Himemiya...no, it's Asamiya now, isn't it?_

She struggled to open her eyes, but couldn't quite make it.

"Up and at 'em, girl; we haven't got all day."

_English? Why are they speaking English?_ Something wasn't right. She fought for memory, to try and recall _why_ there was this mounting sensation of wrongness but couldn't quite grasp it, like trying to catch a raindrop only to have it run through her fingers.

"You think she's still out?"

"Nah. Her breathing's changed. She's coming around."

Chikane felt the whisper of cloth against her face and light stabbed painfully into her eyelids. She tried to groan but her lips didn't move—no, _couldn't_ move, were held shut by something. Tape! Memory crashed in on her—the sudden attack, the men, the spasms of the Taser, the van pulling alongside, the prick of a needle.

Kidnapping.

She tried opening her eyes again, to focus and learn what she could about her surroundings. The light was a bright beam of sunlight shining through and concentrated by a skylight in the roof thirty feet above her. The building was some kind of warehouse or farm storage shed, with a packed dirt floor and corrugated metal walls. She herself was tied to a straight-backed chair, arms behind her and ankles tied to the chair legs. The cord prickled at her wrists; she thought it was probably plain hemp rope.

The skylight, the few high windows, and several hooded bulbs descending on wires from the ceiling gave decent illumination, and Chikane could see four men facing her: a slim Japanese in a black T-shirt and cargo pants, silver rings in his left ear and nostril; a burly man of mixed Pacific Islands ethnicities in which no one origin seemed dominant, showing off tattooed arms in a tank top and Bermuda shorts; a stubble-cheeked blond with surfer-boy looks in a red Hawaiian shirt and white pants; and a tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped man with the features of a native Hawaiian whose tight-fitting T-shirt and jeans showed off lean, hard muscles, the kind a man got through swimming, running, or martial arts instead of pumping iron. She remembered the tattooed man and the surfer from when she'd been grabbed; the surfer had had the Taser.

Surfer Boy chuckled.

"Hell, if looks could kill, we'd be bleeding out now. Must not have liked our invitation."

Chikane's gaze lingered on the tattooed man for a moment. His color deepened, and he stepped forward and ripped the duct tape off her mouth. It stung like blazes, but she choked down the reflexive yelp. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a response.

The Hawaiian grinned. "Looks like you pissed off Rex with your little stunt, Miss Himemiya. Then again, I suppose it's only sensible that one of Japan's richest heiresses knows a little self-defense."

"I'm not—" Chikane began, then snapped her mouth shut. _What am I thinking? I almost told them that I'm not Reiko!_ That would be a fatal mistake. Himemiya Reiko was a valuable asset who could bring these men wealth. Asamiya Tsukuyo was worthless dead weight—worse, she was a substantial liability, a witness. If they learned whom she was, or more accurately wasn't, they'd kill her at once.

"You can go ahead and scream, you know," the surfer told her. "There's nobody out here that can hear you, anyway. And it'd make Rex happy. You owe him one for the fall you gave him."

_He owes me one_, she thought. _If I'd known he was a kidnapper instead of a purse-snatcher I'd have crippled him instead of just knocking him down._ Not that it would have saved her from the Taser, but it would have meant one less captor and possibly a valuable witness left behind in police custody.

She cut off that chain of thought. "What ifs" were useless, and chewing over past mistakes wasn't going to help. She had to get away somehow, to get back to Himeko. _She must be frantic._

"I'm not telling you anything."

The men laughed. The Hawaiian's, though, was the shortest, and he stepped forward, grabbing a fistful of Chikane's hair and jerking her head back.

"Now, listen up, bitch. You may think you're hot shit, with all your daddy's money and your school-team martial arts tricks, but none of that means jack to me. I could cut your throat right here and now and only care about getting the bloodstains off my boots. You get that?"

Chikane didn't say anything. He yanked her head back farther, sending a shock of pain through her scalp. His free hand dipped into his hip pocket and brought out a butterfly knife, which he spun open with a practiced movement. The Islander pressed the point of the knife to the soft skin just behind Chikane's chin, and she felt the sting as he dug the tip in, just a little.

"I said, you get that?"

"She gets it," the Japanese man said. "Her English is perfect. She did all the translating for the girls when they were shopping. Very good English and very fancy, high-class Japanese."

_He was spying on me?_ But of course, someone had had to be watching; how else would they have been tricked into thinking "Miya-sama" was Himemiya Reiko. Indeed, it was Reiko herself who called her "Miya-sama" in their group of four, so ironically it was their intended victim who'd inadvertently redirected their attention to Chikane, over and above language and mannerisms. _I can't believe I didn't notice I was being followed, though._ Ordinary school life with Himeko had dulled the Lunar Priestess's warrior instincts.

Not that she'd trade that in. Her time with Himeko was too precious a treasure to miss any part of. But she needed to be more than that, now. It was the sword priestess, not the schoolgirl or the lover, whom she needed to be if she wanted to get out of this.

"You going to cooperate, girl? Or do I carve you up a bit? Rich family like yours, I'm sure they can give you enough surgery to make the scars mostly go away..." He took the knife away from her jaw and laid it just below her eye. "I'll start here, maybe," he said stroking the flat of the blade over her cheek down to the corner of her mouth. "Of course, I'll have to be careful. The muscles in that area are tricky and a careless slip could do permanent damage. Wouldn't want to wreck that gorgeous smile, hey?"

"What do you want?" Chikane asked, believing the man's threats. They weren't just for intimidation's sake, but had genuine menace behind them. He wouldn't want to kill her, not while she represented Himemiya family money to him, but he'd certainly hurt her. Probably, he'd enjoy it.

That was fair. She'd enjoy hurting him, too.

"Jojo?"

He put away the butterfly knife and extended a hand towards the Japanese man, who passed him a microcassette recorder, the kind businesspeople used in the '80s and '90s to dictate notes and memos into.

"We want you to sing for your daddy, little bird."

~X X X~

_"I'm alive and well, for now, and they say I'll remain that way if you...play by their rules. They assume the police have already been called by my friends or teachers and will accept that, but warn that any sign of surveillance or other...games...will result in my painful death. They'll contact you later with details of the payment and transfer, but suggest that the Himemiyas get several million dollars in old, non-sequential twenties and fifties prepared in the meantime._

_"Tell Himeko that I'm all right and that I love her."_

Detective-Lieutenant Lord clicked off the tape player.

"I'm not going to lie to you," he said to the assembled faces. "This is a grade-A fuck-up."

Next to him, Sergeant Morishita translated his words into Japanese, as the liaison officer had previously done for the kidnapped girl's. Under the circumstances, an interpreter was mandated; among the seven people facing the police in the hotel's conference room, only the Himemiya Financial Group representative, a lawyer named Machita, was truly bilingual. The two bodyguards and the teacher had the halting semi-fluency of someone who'd learned the language from books but rarely, if ever, practiced it among native speakers, while the three girls were even worse. It was doubly irritating to realize that judging by the voice on the tape and the waitresses' statements, the girl who'd been kidnapped was likely the one who'd have been most genuinely useful to have around.

He'd given some initial thought to the idea that this wasn't a mistake at all—that the girl might have been in on a staged kidnapping, all of the profit but none of the problems with controlling the hostage. He'd never have gotten to his rank if he'd accepted everything at face value. But the evidence and witness testimony had convinced Lord that this case was what it seemed like: a kidnapping where the criminals had grabbed the wrong target.

"I appreciate your sentiments, Lieutenant," the lawyer responded in English. "Nonetheless, I do not understand the reason for my presence. Miss Reiko is safe, and certainly neither I nor my clients have any information about these criminals."

"You're here because HPD is asking that the Himemiyas play along with the kidnappers. And given that this ransom tape wasn't even provided to us until _we_ contacted _you_, I don't think you have much of a leg to stand on."

Machita did not flinch.

"For which I thank you. When this tape was delivered, I believed that Miss Himemiya had been, in fact, kidnapped. Now we know that this was not the case. We have no stake in this matter."

_Smug bastard. He doesn't need me to tell him any of this_, Lord thought. But that was a lawyer, right enough, serving his clients' bottom line instead of doing the right thing.

"Because Miss Asamiya's safety may depend on it. The kidnappers believe they have Reiko Himemiya. If they find out the truth, they're likely to cut their losses, kill the girl and try to vanish."

The teacher flinched at this and after Morishita translated—no way was Lord letting the attorney keep this to himself—the strawberry blonde yelped. The girl who'd been identified as the real Reiko Himemiya spun to the lawyer and began spitting out rapid-fire Japanese.

"Please, Mr. Machita, you have to do what they say! Miya-sama was kidnapped because of me! I couldn't live with myself if we allowed anything to happen to her! You have to do everything in your power to see that she is brought home safely."

Machita showed nothing but a stoic face, but Lord knew that he was squirming inside. It hadn't been an accident, after all, that Lord made his request in front of the other involved parties. He couldn't expect the Himemiyas to actually pony up the ransom, but he wasn't going to let some shark in a suit say "Too bad; so sad" and let the girl get killed because she wasn't important to him.

Now, though, it was a matter of public face—and more, the heiress herself had made a request.

Machita inclined his head slightly.

"Very well, Lieutenant; please let me know how I may be of assistance to you."

~X X X~

Surfer Boy dug the end of a bottle opener under the cap of a longneck and popped it open. He lifted the beer to his lips and took a deep drink, then sighed. Chikane appreciated the point; the bright sun and metal walls made the building hot, and the lack of ventilation made it stifling. Chikane's throat and tongue felt swollen, and perspiration dotted her face and limbs.

She'd have loved something cold and wet to drink, but she was actually glad of the heat. The heat was her friend, the perspiration making her skin slippery. She had been slowly, so it didn't show any more than it had to in her shoulders, working on the bonds, and believed she could get her wrists free in an instant at any time she liked. The ropes around her ankles, though, were a different problem; it would take time to untie them, time that she wouldn't have under the eyes of a guard.

The Hawaiian had left temporarily, no doubt to arrange delivery of the tape he'd had Chikane make. Hopefully he wouldn't discover that he had the wrong girl. He'd left the other three men on guard, but they hadn't wanted to sit around in the heat watching so they'd played rock-paper-scissors to determine who'd stay in and the surfer—Cedric, they'd called him—had been the loser.

The fact that they'd been so free with names and faces told Chikane something else, that even if the Himemiyas paid the ransom, they'd only be buying back a corpse. That meant she'd have to get away, not just before they learned the truth, but before their plan got to the point where they didn't need her alive.

The good news was, Cedric didn't have a gun. That wasn't so much out of concern for her life, though it was relevant, as for their own. There were three of them, bigger, stronger, and no doubt competent fighters. From where they stood, introducing guns into the equation would just make things worse. If she somehow got hold of one, it would maker her as big and strong as any of them.

In truth, Chikane would not want a gun except as a last resort. She'd never fired one, never even held one. Could she even find the safety and fire? If so, she had no idea what kind of force to use pulling the trigger, or how strong the recoil would be. She'd probably miss; certainly any precision aiming would be impossible.

If she had a sword or bow, she would be confident she could beat these men, even though she lacked the powers of the awakened Lunar Priestess. She did not have such weapons, though. It was pointless to even waste time wishing for them.

Surfer Boy didn't have the Taser, either. Maybe it needed to be recharged before using again? If Chikane did free her hands, he'd have to come close to prevent her from freeing her legs. Would he just call his friends, have one cover her while he retied her? She doubted it; for one thing they might have wandered off, and for another she didn't think a macho type like the surfer would want to admit he needed help to control a teenage girl who was tied to a chair.

So he would probably approach her. She'd only get one chance, though. If she tried to get away and failed, they'd likely tie her up more securely, and probably "teach her a lesson" about trying it again, besides.

Chikane cast her eyes around the room, taking in everything she could see. Mostly the place had been left empty, but for a couple of long worktables near one wall with bits of junk strewn on them. She wondered if there was anything useful to be found there. Somehow, though, she doubted that Surfer Boy would be nice enough to go inventory it for her.

No, there was no more time for thought or planning.

She yanked her hands free, the rough help scraping her skin, probably drawing blood. He had the beer bottle tipped back again, so he didn't notice at once, but when she bent over to reach for her ankles he caught the bigger movement and came up sputtering.

"Hey, what the?"

He jumped up and ran towards her. There was no chance to get her legs free, but she hadn't really expected to get loose anyway. She reached back, gripping the sides of the chair back while she bent forward so she was standing on her feet. As the kidnapper neared, Chikane spun. Her movement was ridiculously clumsy, but her timing was good; she whipped the chair frame hard against the side of Cedric's legs at knee level. He stumbled, windmilling, and she slammed back hard against him, knocking him onto his back before he could regain his balance.

Chikane didn't trick herself into believing she had time to get her legs free or accomplish anything else before Surfer Boy could get back up. He'd been surprised by her escape attempt and surprised again when she used the chair against him, but that wouldn't keep him down long. Without hesitation, Chikane drew herself up, then drove her body down, slamming the chair legs into Surfer Boy's torso and abdomen with her full body weight and all the force she could muster. One leg, well placed, rammed into his solar plexus, driving the breath out of him in a choked gasp. Before he could catch his breath or try to grab the chair to topple her off him she drew herself up and struck again.

And again.

And again.

The third try speared a chair leg down on his throat, crushing his windpipe and leaving him strangling. She didn't realize that until the eighth strike.

No one had come rushing in by the time Chikane untied the ropes from her legs. She stretched, then rubbed her wrists and ankles, trying to restore circulation. Then she turned to the body.

_I'm sorry, Himeko_ momentarily flitted through her mind. She had killed a man. A criminal, a kidnapper, one who'd surely have tried to kill her in the future, but even so he was still dead, and in some vague way she felt like she had let her lover down.

Chikane patted down the body, hoping to find a weapon, but only came up with a cell phone and wallet. She took the phone; if it got a signal she could use it to call for help. Unfortunately, he had nothing else useful. She went to the junk tables and had better luck there. It wasn't much, but there was a coil of sturdy wire on a wooden spool. She secured the loose end to a small L-shaped piece of wood that had broken off something some time in the past and had herself a serviceable garrotte. It wasn't a weapon she was particularly experienced with; holding the strangling cord she felt neither actual training nor the subconscious nudge that she felt when she was familiar with something from unremembered past lives.

She had to get them separately. The tattooed man and the Japanese were of an unknown skill level and she didn't think she could necessarily take them both while weaponless. The best move was to wait, patiently, for the next man to take over guard duty from Cedric. They'd said that they'd switch off every hour, so how much time did she have?

_None!_ she realized as she heard the scrape of the door latch turning, as loud as a gunshot in the empty room. She rushed towards the door, playing out the wire between her hands as she did.

"Hey, Cedric! You're a free man!" the tattooed gym rat said as he pushed open the door. An instant later he saw Surfer Boy's body sprawled in the dirt and Chikane missing. "Hey, what the f—?"

His words were cut off as the garrotte whipped around his throat.

~X X X~

Machita Ken was furious. That damned American detective had pinned him into a corner, all but blackmailed him into continuing the farce when no sane businessman would do so. The Himemiya Financial Group was not a charity! It had no special interest in Asamiya Tsukuyo. It wasn't even a trip sponsor or otherwise a host who might, therefore, have some perceived obligation for the girl's safety.

But no, the detective had not only refused to acknowledge this, he had all but demanded that the company play along, with the tacit threat that if it didn't, they'd be smeared throughout the press with a PR nightmare if anything happened. And Himemiya Reiko had immediately spoken up, pleading tearfully for the sake of her school friend. It was pathetic, not even an act of gracious charity extended for kindness' sake but a panicked breakdown.

_No wonder she's a nothing, a shrinking violet, while some nobody becomes her "Miya-sama" and the princess of the school in her place!_

It was Reiko's lack of poise, grace, self-esteem, awareness of her position, whatever the hell one wanted to call it that had landed them in this mess. His initial rage had been directed at Vincent Pukui and his crew of idiots—_what did they need, a fucking _dossier_ on the target?_—but now he was beginning to understand just how the mistake had been made.

Another thing to blame Lieutenant Lord for, he thought. He'd kept them in that stupid conference for so long that Machita hadn't been able to get out and make a vitally important phone call. It'd been nearly an hour and a half before he was able to take out a cell, not the sleek black business-model smartphone that he'd used to set up the gathering of the ransom money under the eyes of everyone in the conference, but a second phone. This one was a cheap model with prepaid minutes, a nearly-untraceable "burn phone." The number he dialed was associated with another such phone. There was one ring, then a second.

"Yah?" Pukui's voice snapped out. Machita could hear a car engine in the background; the Hawaiian was no doubt returning to the place he'd stashed the girl.

"You grabbed the wrong one," Machita snapped, not bothering with any formalities.

"What?"

"You took the wrong one! How much plainer can I make it?"

"Hey, don't be pulling this, man. We got the one you told us to go after. Carries herself like a fucking queen, even after we snatched her."

"The problem is that Reiko is a little mouse with glasses and braids!" It was an effort to keep from screaming, but he knew that he couldn't afford to indulge his temper. "The girl you grabbed has nothing, _nothing_ to offer. No connection to the Himemiyas! Just an ordinary, middle-class family! With a _twin sister_ who called the _police_!"

"That bitch! She went and played along when she found we didn't know who she was. Probably figured it would keep her alive."

"Lucky you didn't get her purse and ID and smart to realize what it meant—but she's out of both now. Dispose of her and clean up before the police get a chance to catch a sniff of what's happening."

Without waiting for a response, Machita signed off the call, then glanced around. No one was in sight, so he took out a handkerchief, wiped the cell of any prints, and tossed the burn phone into a refuse bin amid newspaper and fast-food wrappers.

The Hawaiian was lucky, he thought. Letting them fade into the underworld, when they hadn't collected a ransom, was easier than having his yakuza contacts finish them off. Pukui's mistake had, inadvertently, ended up saving his life.

Too bad it wouldn't help Asamiya Tsukuyo.

~X X X~

The tattooed man clawed at the wire encircling his throat, but soon realized that it was too late; it was biting into his flesh and he couldn't get any purchase. It was virtually impossible, despite his strength advantage, for him to reach behind him and use that strength against his garrotter. It was one of the things that made a garrotte such a lethal weapon; the human animal's instinctive responses to it were almost useless.

And, of course, he could not call for help.

In desperation and terror, Rex did the only thing he could do: he braced his feet instead of staggering, pivoted, and used his greater size and muscle mass to drive himself backward, hammering his strangler's body against the corrugated-metal wall with all the force he could muster. The loud clanging of the impact rang out like an alarm bell once, twice, then three times, four. His vision was starting to blur when he felt the constant pressure at his throat slacken. With the garrotte no longer in place he was able to reach back, get a grip on the girl, and then lean forward with all the strength he had, throwing her over his back to slam onto the floor in front of him, nearly hitting Cedric's empty chair.

Rex ripped the wire from around his throat and gasped for breath, sucking in the oxygen his body so desperately needed. The throw had been a hard one; the girl lay in the dirt, momentarily stunned, giving him the time to get his breath back. He was going to enjoy breaking her with his bare hands. They might need the Himemiya bitch alive for now, but hey, they were going to kill her sooner or later, weren't they, so a little rough work didn't matter, right?

He was so focused on reaching out and seizing her that he didn't see her hand close around the neck of Cedric's dropped beer bottle, and he only heard the sound of her shattering the glass by swinging it, hard, against one of the chair legs. She took him completely by surprise when, as he bent down to grab her, she whipped her arm around and drove the jagged ends of the broken bottle into the soft flesh of his throat, tearing it open.

~X X X~

The tattooed man wasn't dead by the time Chikane began patting him down, judging by the bubbles of escaping air welling up through the blood in the ruin of his throat. The crash of her body against the wall had been loud and unnatural; the third man would be on his way. She needed a weapon, a _real_ weapon, if she was going to deal with the Japanese in a straight-up fight without the advantage of surprise. Did she have any time? Seconds, at most.

_There!_ Under the loose-fitting shorts, strapped to the outside of his right leg, hilt-down in a sheath, was a knife. Chikane unsnapped the strap around the handle that kept the knife from falling out and drew the weapon. It was a Marine KA-BAR, a combat knife with a seven-inch blade, meant for both stabbing and slashing. Chikane was expert with a _tanto_, the Japanese dagger, and this was more than adequate as a substitute.

The Japanese kidnapper burst through the door just as Chikane pulled the knife free; he had the Taser in hand and whipped it towards her to fire. She dove left without trying to rise, rolling away, careful to keep the knife from accidentally cutting or stabbing herself, and the barbs whipped harmlessly past her, trailing their coils of electric wire. He flung aside the now-useless weapon as Chikane sprang to her feet and charged him. If he had a gun it would be touch-and-go if she could get to him before he could draw and fire.

He didn't have a gun, though. Apparently he'd still followed the Hawaiian's admonition not to risk carrying one around the prisoner, or else he just didn't like them. What he did produce was a _tanto_, the weapon she'd just been thinking about. Steel rang off steel as he parried her first cut, then sprang aside from her second. They faced each other, circling, expressions grim. Chikane could tell he knew what he was doing from that first exchange, his stance, a dozen cues, and that he ought to be picking up the same thing about her.

There was a difference, though. He had _proof_ of what she was capable of. There had been three men, and one teenaged girl tied to a chair. Now there was just one man, and the girl wasn't tied any more. How would that change his perceptions? Could he react quickly, psychologically deal with what had happened, or would he be off-balance, defending himself on instinct rather than by thought?

She felt the ache in her back from where she'd been hammered against the wall, the throb in wrists and ankles from the ropes, the soreness in her shoulders from having her arms tied behind her. Chikane had her own disadvantages, physical ones, which might slow and distract her.

She knew how to focus past pain and injury, though.

Nobody could focus past their own mind.

"Come on, Jojo," she invited, remembering his name. "Why don't you try something?" She beckoned with her off hand, though not actually moving it out of position. "Or do you need me to be tied up first, before you make your move? Of course, that's what Cedric did, and it didn't work out so well for him, didn't it?"

A quiver ran through him, a flicker of hate slashing across his features.

"Try it, Jojo," she taunted. "Surely you don't need me to have one hand tied behind my back, do you?"

She took a risk, then, pulling her empty hand back around to hold it behind her. Even as a feint, it was taking a chance, because it would only work to her advantage if he did what she wanted him to do. If he didn't take the bait—

But he did. His anger at her mockery, his confusion at how she'd so utterly reversed the situation on her kidnappers betrayed him, clouding his judgment. He attacked to take advantage of her exposed side, to use her arrogance against her as he thought. Only, he hadn't thought the next step ahead, didn't see she was ready to pivot away from the attack, catch the wrist of his knife-hand between the V of thumb and forefinger to knock it up and away, and rip the KA-BAR in a slashing cut along his exposed ribs.

Pain fueled the Japanese man's fear, weakening him, clouding his judgment even more. He tried to close and grapple and got a slash across the knuckles of his empty hand for his trouble. Each injury just made it worse for him as Chikane steadily, methodically, cut him to ribbons.

She left the warehouse, the sweltering heat and the stink of blood and death, into the late-afternoon fresh air. As she'd suspected, they were out in the middle of nowhere; greenery had crept in on all sides except for a small clearing in front of the building and the only road away was a dirt track. There was no sign of a vehicle, so she assumed that the Hawaiian had taken the only one on his errand. Chikane did find some of the men's gear outside: firearms, the Taser's charger, a cooler containing beer and sandwiches. She hadn't eaten since breakfast so she helped herself to a turkey sandwich on wheat. While she ate, she took out the cell phone she'd retrieved from Surfer Boy's body and found, pleasantly, that she had a signal. She quickly dialed a familiar number.

"H-hello?" a voice answered in Japanese, tight with worry.

"Himeko, it's Chikane."

"Chikane-chan!" Himeko squealed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine for now. I got away from the kidnappers, but there's one of them left. He went to deliver a ransom tape a while ago."

"It was delivered. Thank you for the message; it made me feel a lot better."

"I'm glad."

There was a slight pause.

"Um, Chikane-chan, what did you mean by 'one of them left'?"

She took a long pause before admitting the truth. "What you're thinking. Alive."

"Are you all right?"

Chikane chuckled.

"You already asked that, love. Yes, I'm fine. I got bumped around a bit, but that's all." The laughter vanished at once as she asked, "Are _you_ all right?"

They both knew what she was asking.

"They _kidnapped_ you, Chikane-chan! The detective said that they'd probably kill you if they found out you weren't Himemiya-san!"

Chikane sighed with relief, unable to keep the smile off her face. Killing those men hadn't bothered her in the slightest, but the though of disappointing Himeko..._And how broken am I, that I can think that way?_

Less broken than she'd been as the Eighth Neck, in her previous life. Perhaps that was all that mattered.

"Thank you. You said that there was a detective there? So you called the police?"

"That's right."

"Is he or she still wherever you're at?"

"Oh, yes; he's still here."

"Good. Can you please put him on?"

There was a long pause, and then another voice came on the line.

"Miss Asamiya? This is Lieutenant Lord, Honolulu Police Department."

"You're in charge of the case?"

"For now, until the feds show up. Your sister said that you got away?"

"Yes. I killed the three men left with me, but I suspect the fourth will be coming back. I don't know where I am and I'm off in the country somewhere, so there's nowhere for me to go but into the wilderness. Can you track this phone by GPS and get a helicopter up here? You might be able to get here before the last one does and take him when he comes back."

"Is this some kind of joke? You say you _killed_ three kidnappers?"

"They were careless, and after this experience I'm not inclined to make jokes. I just want to get back safely to my sister and the rest of the school group."

"All right, just keep this call open and we'll see what we can do." Chikane heard him snapping off orders to, she assumed, his subordinates, putting the machinery of law enforcement into work, before returning to the phone. "You're okay, though? Do you need a doctor?"

"I've been a bit shaken up, and I'm sure I'll have a few nasty bruises, but that's all. I just want to get _out_ of here. There's still most of the school trip left, and I really don't want to ruin it for everyone else."

~X X X~

"All right, Miss Asamiya, that's all," Lord said, turning off the recorder. He walked over to the interrogation room door. "We'll have a car take you back to the hotel." Perhaps surprisingly, everything had gone perfectly; they had traced her location to an abandoned agricultural operation, flown in to retrieve her, and been in time for two-time loser Vincent Pukui to drive right into their laps.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

An officer was waiting when she came out, escorting her down the hall. Morishita passed her, joining Lord.

"Do you believe her, Lieutenant?"

"No reason not to. We'll hold her passport, just in case the forensics pull up something wonky, but it looks plain enough. Pukui's singing like a lark, seeing as how he's facing three counts of felony murder over and above the kidnapping and assault charges, and Machita's lawyer was asking for a plea deal before it even got out of the DA's mouth. The press'll make the girl a hero, who fought her way free from vicious killers, so there's no chance anyone'll push it, particularly with the international angle. Justifiable homicide, plain and simple." His gaze narrowed. "Why, you think something's wrong?"

Morishita sighed, then shook his head.

"With the facts of the case? No. It's just..." He turned, looking back the way Asamiya Tsukuyo had gone. "Watching your interview, that girl...she bothers me."

"She's a pretty exceptional kid, according to her teachers. Valedictorian, class president, tennis player, _kyudo_ club captain—what is that, anyway?"

"Japanese-style archery," Morishita provided.

Lord nodded.

"Yeah."

"And the three men she killed?"

"Rap sheets as long as your arm, all of 'em."

Morishita nodded.

"Yet this paragon, this honor student, killed them all. She crushed a man to death with a chair. She garrotted a man, then slashed his throat with a broken bottle. She took a third man to pieces in a knife fight. I'm not saying it wasn't justified. I'm not saying it wasn't self-defense. I'm just saying that it isn't _normal_. And...damn it, Jack, we've both been cops a long time. We've seen posers trying to be badass and we've seen people in shock. She's neither one. She snuffed three hardcases and she just doesn't care. The only time she showed any emotion was when she talked about that kid sister of hers."

Lord nodded.

"I agree. Except, if you ask my opinion, that emotion isn't exactly sisterly."

Morishita's face twisted.

"God, you don't mean—"

Lord laughed, a hearty chuckle at the liaison officer's discomfiture.

"Jack, what's so funny about that? We're talking about a sociopath with an incestuous fixation—"

"—secretly trained in martial arts and knife fighting? I don't think so."

"Then what?"

"She's a pro, Ted. Probably the sister, or girlfriend, or whatever too. You think this Machita joker is the first to get the bright idea to kidnap the heiress? I'm betting, when Miss Reiko went off to high school, the Himemiyas ran in a ringer, a baby-faced bodyguard who could keep an eye on her at school, on trips, all that, without having to let the girl know she's under watch."

"Then why didn't she just say so?"

"Traveling under a false passport? In this day and age, that'll get her in more trouble than the three dead guys. Plus, after, what, three or four years of deep cover, you think she wants to blow it just for our curiosity's sake?"

"Are you going to write any of this up?"

"Why bother? It's just guesswork. I'm not going to make trouble where there doesn't need to be." Lord pushed himself out of the uncomfortable plastic chair. "And maybe I'm just talking through my hat and you're right about her. Either way, it's not our problem."

~X X X~

"Chikane-chan!"

The dark-haired girl had gotten barely two steps away from the police car that had dropped her off in front of the hotel before Himeko engulfed her in a massive hug, squeezing for all she was worth.

"Did you miss me?" Chikane said playfully.

"Mm-hm!" Himeko agreed without a trace of teasing or self-consciousness. "I was really scared, even more then when the Orochi were after me."

Chikane blinked in surprise.

"But why—"

"You know why, Chikane-chan."

The taller girl let out her breath in a long sigh, then raised a hand to stroke Himeko's hair.

"Yes, I do. Because I was in danger and you couldn't do anything about it."

"Yeah. It was awful; I'd have been less scared if I'd been right there with you. But I'm okay now that you're safe, honestly." She wasn't lying; getting over shocks and emotional upsets was one of the things Himeko was really good at, much better than Chikane.

And she had Chikane _back_. That was what mattered.

"Well, at least we can enjoy a nice dinner and get a decent night's sleep. I think we'll both need it if we're not going to yawn all the way through the museums tomorrow and give the people there the entirely wrong idea."

"The museums?"

"The school trip? Tomorrow was supposed the be various cultural sights?"

"Chikane-chan, the teachers...they were going to cancel the trip, after all that's happened. Now that you're safe, they'll make arrangements to take us all home."

Her twin looked at her, startled.

"But that isn't fair! Something bad happens to me, and our class loses something they've been looking forward to all year? Unless...did you _want_ to go home, Himeko?"

She shook her head.

"No, I don't. I was having lots of fun, and I was really looking forward to some of the other activities! And," she pitched her voice low so it couldn't be overheard by anyone else passing by, "I don't want to miss the rest of our 'honeymoon,' Chikane-chan."

"That settles it, then," Chikane declared firmly. "I'll have to have a talk with the teachers right away and let them know that they don't have to do anything for my sake. No, better yet, I'll talk to Himemiya-san first and we can approach them together. A touch of 'the Himemiya family would be deeply shamed if its private affairs caused my classmates inconvenience' could go a long way towards helping convince the administration that we don't need to make any changes."

She chuckled softly.

"Perhaps my best argument will be that the police have requested that I remain here for a few more days until they can determine they won't need my testimony in court. Why not have fun while we're here anyway?"

There it was, Himeko thought. A problem arose, and already her twin had come up with the rudiments of a plan to overcome it, at the end of a day where she had been Tased, drugged, abducted, escaped her captors, killed three people (even if they'd richly deserved it), and been interrogated by the police over the matter. She had to fight to keep tears from welling up.

"I'm so sorry, Chikane," she said, squeezing her lover's hand between her own.

"But why?" Worry was plain on Chikane's face. "None of this was your fault, and you were the one who suffered. You're the one who was worried and afraid and upset by it all."

"Mmn," Himeko agreed, nodding. She knew that Chikane wasn't telling a comforting lie, that she really did view—and accurately—her experiences as being more of a strain on Himeko than herself. "That's why I'm sorry."

"...Oh."

It took a long time to heal a broken soul.

Luckily, they had as many lifetimes as they needed.

~X X X~

_A/N: It's funny. Whenever I try to look into the psyche of Himeko, I get introspective vignettes like "Sunrise" or "Madness of the Sun." Whenever I look into the psyche of Chikane, I get explicit sex and violence like "Moving Day" or the fights with the Sixth and First Necks in _Kannazuki no Shimai _or this story._

_For anybody who's wondering, the doctrine of felony murder simply indicates that _any_ death that takes place during the commission of a felony constitutes murder, punishable on the same level as premeditated, first-degree homicide. The interesting thing about felony murder is that the "murderer" does not actually have to commit the killing to be guilty of felony murder. So if bank robbers shoot a teller, even the getaway driver who never went into the bank at all is still guilty of felony murder. Indeed, the person who gets killed isn't even required to be an innocent victim—even the death of a co-felon counts. So in this case, Chikane kills three criminals, and the fourth criminal is guilty of murder (Chikane isn't guilty of felony murder because she isn't a felon). However, the law of felony murder varies from state to state (what doesn't?) and I don't know how...or if...it applies in Hawaii._


End file.
